I have not been writing on Open Salon for weeks now, and I’m afraid I may have lost many of the connections I made here.  I’m actually publishing a Christian children’s musical, and the proof process and the studio recording have taken every available neuron.

But I wanted to post about our incredible family vacation to Argentina, first because this country must zoom to the top of your dream vacation list, and second because I want you to meet (if you have not already) a generous, exuberant friend named Marcela, known on Open Salon as Marcela in English.

We were invited by friends to crash their family trip to Argentina, and I confess that had you asked me to name the first things that came to mind when you named the country, I would have said, “tango, beef, Evita Peron,” and then been pretty stuck.  Embarrassing, really, my lack of knowledge, and because of the rush to finish the script, I didn’t even properly correct my ignorance before traveling.  I skimmed one guide book on the plane and basically entered Buenos Aires with no idea what to expect.

And maybe that was for the best, because I was so delightfully surprised by the beauty of the city and the warm, happy embrace of the people.  We were fortunate to be traveling with friends who were fluent in Spanish, and also had the advantage that this family had relatives in Buenos Aires, a lovely family who picked us up at the airport, greeted us with a kiss on the cheek, welcomed us into their home, and spent the better part of their week taking us to restaurants and shows and sites they thought we might enjoy. 

But I’m fairly sure that even without this incredible connection, we would have fallen in love with Argentina.  In fact, I wrote 17 pages of notes on the sites and adventures I loved, and will try to do the trip some small justice by listing just a few.  One of these listings will be about Marcela, and what she has proclaimed to be the first Pan American OS meeting.

WONDERS OF ARGENTINA:  A LIST BOTH TOO LONG AND INADEQUATE

LA RECOLETA CEMETERY:  We discovered this site by chance around the block from our immaculate hotel.  Entrance was free; maps were available for a few pesos.  We wandered in through Greek columns and found towering marble and granite mausoleums with huge, magnificent statuary:  angels reaching to the heavens, cherubs weeping, marble depictions of the person who had died.  Some tombs were immaculately kept; others were in disrepair and you could peer in through broken stone and glass to see coffins and stairs that led underground to the crypts.  We turned a corner, got behind a line of people, and suddenly found ourselves in front of the mausoleum of Evita Peron. 

The cemetery also had live residents:  beautiful cats of every variety wandered the grounds and stretched out on the dark stones, lazing in the sunshine.  I don’t know the tradition behind the cats:  are they guardians?  Spirit guides?  Or simply lucky felines fed and cared for daily by cemetery volunteers?  La Recoleta Cemetery closes at five, but between the huge, dramatic statues and the stalking cats, this could be one of the creepiest places possible to spend a night!

SHOPPING:  On the weekends, long aisles of colorful tents seem to bloom right out of the landscape, with artists and vendors offering gemstones, jewelry, multi-colored cashmere scarves and sweaters, oil paintings, and whimsical wire sculptures.  For the high-end shopper, there are miles of shops open daily.  We visited La Florida and browsed cutlery, jewelry, and every imaginable style and color of leather good:  pants, shirts, coats, belts, and shoes.   Some bartering happens, but not too much.  When our friend dickered too long over the price of a shirt, the shop owner finally threw up his hands in disgust and said, “`Esta es  Argentina, no Turkey!”

FOOD:  What would you like with your beef?  You can find any style of cuisine in the city, but beef is the feature in Argentine restaurants, every possible cut:  from Bife con Lomo (t-bone) to Asada (thin strips from the ribs) to tongue.  Our meals often started with empanadas, followed by fresh-baked bread and (numerous!) bottles of Argentina’s famous wine, the deep, rich, smooth Malbec.

And when do you eat?  Never before 8:00 p.m., mi amigo, and if you go that early, you miss the show.  Crowds are lined up out the door of the popular restaurants at 11:00 p.m. for dinners that may last two hours or more.  Vegetables and fruits are local and seasonal, nothing frozen or canned, and all made when you order it.  The texture of the beef is a bit tougher as the cows are grass fed, but it is also more flavorful, and served in astonishing portions - during my first dinner, all I could think was, Gosh, I’ve never tried to eat half an entire cow. 

A word about the service:  I’m just guessing from observation, but waiting tables must be an honored profession here.  I saw locals come in and embrace their server as they were being seated, as if greeting a good friend.  Many servers almost seemed like co-owners of their restaurants, quietly proud of their delicious offerings.  Every gesture seemed special:  even opening the glass bottle for my new favorite drink, agua con gas zumo limón, was done with a flourish.  Ask for hielo, ice, and it is served in a small individual silver bucket with little tongs.  Dinner might last  hours, with spirited conversation, wine, loud laughter, more wine, beef, sí, refill that wine glass just one more time por favor!, dessert, espresso.  No “30 minutes or it’s free” concept here:   eating is a pleasure and a social event.  And Lord help me, the desserts – crepes filled with rich dulce de leche and a crunchy burnt sugar topping similar to crème brulee, served with ice cream.  I had to discreetly unbutton my jeans on the 13-hour flight home.

TRAFFIC:  Buenos Aires has well-marked freeway lanes, traffic lights, and stop signs, all of which are apparently optional.  I would never attempt to drive here.  Cabs are plentiful and inexpensive, and you can just close your eyes until you get to your destination.  On the drive to the airport, we did have the surprising experience of waiting in a toll booth line while all around us people began honking.  I couldn’t believe how rude and impatient the drivers were acting until my host explained an Argentine law:  toll booths are not allowed to impede traffic flow.  If traffic stacks up, operators are required to open the gates and let people through for free.  The honking drivers were merely giving loud reminders about the law and trying to save a few pesos.

IGUAZÚ FALLS:  I have never been to Niagara Falls, so Iguazú was an astonishing delight.  Two great rivers, the Parana and the Iguazú, meet here and spill violently to the unseeable depths of a gorge created by volcanic activity millions of years ago.  Moss-covered stone steps and long metal bridges lead to numerous views of the Falls, the most dramatic being Devil’s Throat, where the water throws up huge sprays and shrouds the rocks in mist.

Swallows dip in and out of the falls, and butterflies land on your shirt and hat and hands.  I felt lucky, magical as the gem colored insects sat on my fingers, opening and closing their lovely wings and tasting my skin. 

MARCELA IN ENGLISH:  I had written to Marcela months ago when we first planned the trip, and she immediately wrote back, suggesting tours and destinations, and inviting our family to meet her.   When we booked our hotel, we found we had unknowingly chosen a place only ten blocks from her home.  As she says, the world is both large and small, all at the same time.

I called when we arrived and waited in the lobby to meet her.  I confess to being nervous:  I’m outgoing, but always insecure about meeting new people.  These nerves were completely unfounded.  Marcela arrived, I called her name, and she immediately turned and walked swiftly over, kissing me on the cheek, a joyous, exuberant welcome.   We talked for a moment about what I had seen so far, and pondered where to go for coffee.  I confessed that I really wanted to try the traditional Argentine drink yerba maté, though I was a bit nervous about it.  Maté was one of the few things I had read about online:  a mildly narcotic, highly energizing herbal brew that many Argentines consume first thing in the morning and throughout the day.  I had read this was a drink often shared among friends, and though the taste would definitely surprise, it would be a serious affront to make a face, or to drink it incorrectly.  But I somehow knew immediately that Marcela would be gracious about introducing it to me, and she promptly borrowed a gourd maté cup from the hotel staff and ordered a bowl full of loose green herbs.  As with all eating in Argentina, the drinking of maté is a bit of a ritual:  Marcela filled the cup with the aromatic herbs, poured in the hot water, and we watched the air bubble up through the leaves as it brewed.  When it cooled just a bit, she took the first sip through a metal straw that has tiny holes like a sieve to filter the leaves from the liquid.  Then she passed it to me.

How to describe maté?  Definitely an acquired taste.  My husband, who spent much of his childhood around horses, says the aroma reminds him very much of alfalfa hay.  And the taste:  Marcela took mercy on a newcomer and poured two packets of sugar to the brew, and still it was very bitter.  But it was not so bitter that I made a face, and as I drank more, I began to truly enjoy it.  I kept accidentally moving the straw, something Marcela gently corrected several times as this clogs the maté sieve.  The maté effect:  well, I wasn’t filled with energy as I half expected (and hoped on such an activity-filled trip!).  But I was more alert.

We shared the maté, my husband, Marcela, and me, and she wrote us a list of parks, foods, and sites she thought we would like.  I am happy to say we experienced them all:  the parks with incredible rose gardens and the jacaranda trees with their light-blue flowers, the special shops and markets, and the alfajores, delicious cookies filled with dulce de leche and coated with coconut.

Before I had arrived, Marcela had suggested I learn some key Spanish phrases, and I was so grateful for her advice.  No one ever acted rudely because of my awkward Spanish, but people also did not speak perfect English, which is something I actually loved.  The shops here are not catering to lazy, free-spending Americans.  You need at least a smattering of the language; it is only respectful.  Also, clustered amongst the high-end shops and restaurants, we did find a few American staples:  McDonalds, Burger King, Starbucks, Hard Rock Café.  But none of these were ever full.  Marcela recounted that when McDonalds opened, she and her friends were eager to try this American icon, and were so shocked when workers watched as they ate and encouraged them to leave immediately when they were finished.  Business suffered:  eating on the run is not the Argentine way.  Now, Marcela explained, the McDonalds has workers to provide newspapers and refill coffee, encouraging people to linger.  I never saw a line at Starbucks, with their paper cups of coffee to go.  But the outdoor cafés serving pastries, coffee, tea, and maté, these were always filled with people slowly savoring the food, books, conversation, and sunshine.  I am happy that the American way does not seem to be taking over here.  Buenos Aires reminds me a bit of Italy or Greece, but somehow seems even more culturally itself.  Between the empty fast food restaurants and the graciously stubborn Español in the shops, the message seemed to be, You bend to Argentina; it does not bend to you.

We stayed eight days in Argentina, and did not see or do a tenth of what it offers.  We saw the tango show, but did not visit the gaucho ranch.  We saw the Falls but not Los Glaciares National Park or Patagonia.  We shopped, but did not see the museums or the theatres.  We left wide eyed and eager to return.

Nothing seemed more emblematic of the entire trip than my meeting with Marcela, a friendship that is one of the happiest developments from my time in Open Salon.  Marcela is warm, generous, joyful, quick to laugh, eager to share knowledge and friendship.  She signs her OS messages “Kisses, Marcela,” because she, like so many in Argentina, say hello and farewell with a gentle hug and kiss on the cheek.  Marcela is exuberantly in love with her country, and also brilliant.  She runs her own company, offering private tutoring in English, Spanish, and Portuguese.  

This post is far too long, I know, but I wanted to at least try to convey the wonders of a country I had never dreamed of visiting, and also to invite you to become acquainted with Marcela in English, because you might someday get to travel to the magical city of Buenos Aires, and she will be there, kissing you on the cheek and going to all efforts to make your stay in her country rich and joyful.